I

Thomas had never liked the house he had moved into. The government had decided that an overpass needed to be built over what was once their farm, his family was forced from their rural country home, and Thomas had moved into the city so that he could attend college. Thomas had been plagued with nightmares since the first night he had lived there.

Thomas hated nightmares. Not because he was afraid, but because they were not dreams, and Thomas loved to dream. He had gone deaf at the age of eleven, and he was now nineteen, and dreams were the only times he ever heard sounds. On the third night of his living in the house, as soon as his head left the pillow, the nightmare took him.

He saw a man of about his age, standing on a stage with other men. They appeared to be a band, they were all clad in black, with long hair, and much to Thomas’s surprise, he heard their music. Their guitar rifts were loud and mismatching, but had a certain disjointed rhythm one couldn’t put a finger on, also, there was a piano player which added a sincere and distinct creepiness to the music. Their lead singer was quite a sight, clad in overly baggy black pants and a ravaged and frayed-looking black long-sleeved shirt. He had his fingernails painted black and his long black hair seemed to be wet and he slung about haphazardly in a show of passion for their music.

At the appropriate time, he stepped forward, and with very dramatic hand and body motion, started to sing. The voice took Thomas by surprise, it was somewhere between a growl and screech, but it fit well their eerie music. The first part of the song was upbeat and angry, with the singer angrily shrieking the lyrics:

“A beacon in the sky,

Watch me,

Guide me,

The centerpiece of the night,

Teach me,

Hide me,

Return her to me,

Or take her place,

Please,

Moonbeam,

The lady of the night,

Heal me,

Cure me,

The wielder of the darkest might,

Embrace me,

Guard me,

Return her to me,

Or take her place,

Please,

Moonbeam,

Misty-white sorrow,

Consume me,

Destroy me,

Steal my tomorrow,

Cut me,

Kill me,

She can’t return to me,

No one can fill her place,

Take me,

Please,

Moonbeam.”

The singer held out this final word in a desperate sounding screech. Thomas stood, mesmerized by the music, as the song continued, here the music died out, save for the sad sounding piano, which struck keys that pushed ones soul into the very depths of desolation.

The lead singer, again, just as dramatically, began to sing, this time, the anger in his voice was replaced entirely with sorrowful lament, and his voice became more of a sad, low growl as he continued:

“A black, cloudy blanket,

Resides in the sky,

While I, far below,

Kneel, screaming “Why!”,

Everything I know,

It all, has to die,

In this cemetery dream,

As I kneel in a moonbeam,

In this cemetery dream,

And continue my solitary requiem,

I kneel for this stone,

Cheeks streaming liquid sorrow,

I bellow at the demons,

Who stole my tomorrow,

As I lament my lost love,

Whose apology I seek to borrow,

In this cemetery dream,

As I kneel in a moonbeam,

In this cemetery dream,

And continue my solitary requiem

I’m held to this stone,

By unearthly invisible fetters,

Made of love for the women,

For whom this stone is marked in furrowed letters,

And it would seem,

That my situation never betters,

In this cemetery dream,

As I kneel in a moonbeam,

In this cemetery dream,

And continue my solitary requiem…”

Again, the music all but stopped, now there was the sinister piano, accompanied by sorrowful guitar rifts. A girl, clad in black as the others, entered the stage now, and lent here voice toward choir-like, albeit eerie, backup vocals. The singer began with a start, this time, his voice was a cross between the anguished wail of the first, and the sorrowful growl of the last, and thus, he sang:

“I loved her in life,

I’ll love her in death,

And when she died,

I took a breath,

To begin my solitary requiem,

And I kneel in a moonbeam,

In this cemetery dream,

Singing my solitary requiem,

She was taken from me,

One cold October night,

And in well chosen words,

I recount the fright,

In my solitary requiem,

And I kneel in a moonbeam,

In this cemetery dream,

Singing my solitary requiem,

As I wish,

For her back,

My fate,

Is painted black,

And my body,

Falls slack,

As I finish my solitary requiem.”

The band exited the stage, and Thomas woke up, and in a flash of lightning outside his window, he swore he saw the lead singer of the band standing in his room.

--

The morning came, and Thomas woke and dressed for school, not recalling the dream. He arrived at his school of arts and sciences and went to his creative writing class. He was preoccupied the whole day, and could not keep his mind straight at all. He could not figure out why. After this first class, he rushed to the music lab to meet his good friend Landon. He met him in the main room of the large band hall, and via sign language they briefly communicated on the subject of where they should have breakfast.

On their way out, Thomas saw something that made him lose his appetite completely. The man from his dream stood staring at him, in a picture on the wall. Under this picture said “In Loving Memory: Zakarie Mortimus, Alumni, Lead singer/songwriter for Morbid.” The dream, of course, came flooding back.

II

Thomas did not return to school. He departed without even eating breakfast with his friend. He now sat, in front of his computer where he could normally be found of an evening, writing his newest work, researching a band named Morbid. He found an old Internet article:

Local band Morbid’s front man, Zakarie Mortimus was found dead this morning alongside his family. Morbid was a gothic/black metal band that has been receiving a lot of local praise and publicity. The band has since broken up, and police are investigating a connection between Mortimus’s murder, and that of Emma Tripp, his longtime girlfriend, to whom he had recently proposed on stage at the local rock club, The Blood Bar.

Zakarie got up directly and went to the local library and found a newspaper with the same date as the internet article. He looked for anything on the murder and found it quickly;

At 7:16 this morning, the bodies of the family Mortimus were found by their postman inside their home at 1804 Rue Street. The father Alabaster (56), mother, Arleen (52), the two sons Artimus (10) and Zakarie (19), and daughter Scarlett(13). Police have no leads in this murder other than the facts that Emma Tripp, Zakarie Mortimus’s fiancée, was found dead at exactly one o’clock this morning, and all of the victims were fatally shot.

1804 Rue Street. That was Thomas’s address. Thomas went immediately to the librarian and requested all the books on Parapsychology, checked out the six best, and took them home. He sat up late into the night reading them. Finally, at about one in the morning, he fell asleep.

Again, nightmares seized him. This time, he saw Zakarie leave the stag, walk into the crowd, apparently looking for someone. Thomas noticed that the girl that sang with him in his previous dream, who must have been Emma, was leaving with another man. Zakarie followed, and Thomas followed Zakarie.

In the parking lot, Emma and the other man, as well as several others got into a van and left, as Zakarie followed in a beaten black muscle car. Suddenly, Thomas found himself driving the car, and as the van pulled into the house, Thomas found himself rushing forward, pulling the other man from the van, and repeatedly bashing his fist upside the other man’s head.

The man fell, then rose, as Thomas began to wail like a madman. That was when Thomas came to notice that he could hear no other voice than Zakarie’s. The man that had been beaten rose and pulled a gun, though Thomas did not cower or back away.

He pointed the gun at Thomas, then switched his target at the last second and pulled the trigger, and with a shriek, Emma fell dead. Zakarie screamed with anguish, and now a body independent from Thomas, rushed forth to Emma’s body, caressing her obviously dead body, as blood dripped from her head into his lap and onto his hands.

Then he burst forth and ran at the gun wielding man, but the man’s friends got to Zakarie first, and the eight men left him lying unconscious. The scene changed, melted away to show Zakarie riding in his car, Thomas in the passenger seat. He was driving very fast toward Thomas’s house. When he got there, the black van that Emma’s murderer had drove was already parked there.

--

Thomas awoke drenched in sweat. The rest of the story, he knew from what he had researched. But there were other things on his mind. This time, without a doubt, Zakarie stood in the corner of his room. Thomas was not afraid now that he had armed himself with knowledge.

He spoke, his voice, he was sure, cracking from disuse; “What do you want from me.” Zakarie spoke, and Thomas heard it clearly; “Vengeance.” Zakarie’s speaking voice sounded nothing like the voice that he sang with though it kept the same angered edge. “How?” Asked Thomas. “Find my killers and kill them. In return, you shall have your one wish granted to the best of my ability.” Thomas stood from his bed, his head full of sympathy. “I will do my best to find them, and see what happens from there. “ Zakarie disappeared, seemingly satisfied.

III

Over the next few months, Thomas was not himself. He continued to attend school, but his appearance began to change. He always seemed depressed, he wore black, as if in an eternal state of mourning, and his hair grew long and unkempt. No one really noticed much, as it was a writer’s custom to do things like this for seemingly no reason. But Thomas had a reason.

He was slowly uncovering facts about Zakarie’s murder, and on Halloween night, he planned to exact the vengeance that he promised his ethereal friend. He had found the names of the men that were involved in Zakarie’s murder. James, Blake, Cody, Damian, Rob, Timothy, Tony, Andrew, and their leader Ian.

They themselves were part of a rock band that rivaled Morbid, until late in the year of Zakarie’s death, when their band, called Death Stroke, was forgotten in the wake of Zakarie’s Morbid. After Morbid’s break up, they had again rose to the top. As a matter of fact, they were headlining the Halloween show at The Blood Bar. A show which Thomas was planning to attend.

--

At midnight that night, Death Stroke took the stage, set to play until one. Thomas stood backstage next to Zakarie. Thomas held a lead pipe in his hands. There was a mirror backstage, where Thomas examined himself. Zakarie did not show up in the mirror, but looking at Zakarie’s ethereal form and himself, he saw no difference. He and Zakarie had became all but one.

At twelve thirty, Death Stroke came backstage. Upon seeing Thomas, Ian pulled out his gun, as the rest of the nine member band surrounded him. He shot, but the bullet passed through Thomas, and hit Blake squarely in the chest, who fell. A second shot, again, did no harm to Thomas, but felled Damian, By then the other band members had their guns and were shooting at Thomas. Gradually, every member fell to one of his comrade’s bullets, and as the police walked in, Thomas and Zakarie disappeared.

--

In an alleyway behind The Blood Bar, Zakarie and Thomas stood. “What is your wish?” Zakarie inquired. Thomas was quick to answer. “I want to hear again.” Zakarie smiled. “No matter how? You simply want to hear again?” Thomas nodded. Zakarie smiled again, and then held out his hand. “Agreed.” Thomas took his hand, and was surprised to find it solid.

Zakarie disappeared from Thomas’s view, and Thomas’s body shook violently, and for a brief second he heard the world around him, and then he slipped into the welcoming abyss. “There.” Thomas spoke, though in a voice not his own, to nothing in particular, “You have fulfilled your end of the bargain, and I have fulfilled mine.”

--

On his way out of the alley, Thomas saw someone he recognized, the bassist from Morbid, who looked like he saw a ghost. “Zakarie?”, the man exclaimed. ”No. Thomas.”, replied Thomas , “But , tell me, I hear your band is looking for a new singer? Is the space still open?”

--

That night, at his home that now seemed familiar instead of frightening, Thomas, or at least some degree of him, sat and listened to the news. The newscaster spoke; “Tonight, marking the five year anniversary of the Halloween Ball at The Blood Bar, a tradition founded by the late Zakarie Mortimus and his band Morbid, the main event band, Death Stroke, seemed to get into an argument backstage, and an ensuing gunfight found all members dead before authorities arrived, save for lead singer, Ian McKnight, who shockingly, confessed to the murder of Zakarie Mortimus, his family, and his fiancée almost two years ago.” At this, Thomas laughed, although the laugh sounded nothing like his own.

IV

Halloween Night

One Year Later

At The Blood Bar, a crowd had gathered that rivaled indoor attendance records for buildings twice the size of The Blood Bar, as Morbid was set to re-debut with a new singer. The band filed out, followed by their new singer. Many fans of Morbid noted the similarity between this new singer, and the old. Even their voices sound the same, they noticed, as he modestly dedicated their first song to Zakarie Mortimus, with a grin unbefitting of such an occasion.

The band burst into their trademark disjoined union of music, as the new lead singer, in a voice nearly identical to the man’s whom the song was being played for, sang in a lamenting growl:

Through banshee’s cries

Of deep despair

My love, she sighs

With blood coating her hair

As she fades, and dies

I hold her as close as I dare

I don’t want these ties

Still I see her face everywhere

All my desperate tries

To break, out of my shadowed lair

My breath, my lies

I think that I don’t care

From sundown, to sunrise

I can forget this woe I bear

Look me, in my eyes,

See this crown of thorns I wear

Here the singer switched his voice to an angry snarl, as the guitar seemed to growl itself, along with the bass.

How shall I find my comfort now?

Aye, with my blood on my own brow

I wear a crown of thorns, so bow

Before the Prince of Pain condemns you

The music died out save, as per usual, the piano, and Thomas pressed forward with a low, growling voice dripping with sorrow;

Creatures of the night

Bow before me in the rain

We flee from light

For the daytime is no time for pain

Humanity’s blight

Not a single one of us is sane

No way to make it right

I’m locked, now, in all my disdain

The music again died to the piano for about a minute, then the guitar and vocals joined, dementedly sounding;

Graveside

With my only peers

I bide

On this boat which Charon steers

I hide

Behind my crown’s crimson tears

And so I died

Underneath the angel’s leers

How shall my soul find solace now?

With the scars of my life on it’s brow

The shadows of those who refused to bow

Here to repay me for the pain I chose to endow

Here, again, Thomas brought his voice to full force, and finished the song thus;

My love

My pain

That drove,

Me insane

That had me rove

Into my disdain.

And thus I became the Prince of Pain…